


hold your heart like you hold his hands

by PerthroSeidraikiri



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Concerned/Worried Haddock, Injured Tintin, Kisses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23358211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerthroSeidraikiri/pseuds/PerthroSeidraikiri
Summary: Heavy, battered hands trail their way to Tintin’s limp hands.The hands that guide him and pull him forward.The hands that can’t help but wrap around his own when the young man tries to snap some sense into him.Soft, smaller hands than his own ugly, scarred ones that fill Haddock’s soul with everything and nothing but the feeling of safety.
Relationships: Archibald Haddock/Tintin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60





	hold your heart like you hold his hands

**Author's Note:**

> honestly, i just opened my doc and added a few lines and changed a few things because I've been working on this for so long and I really want to see it published.
> 
> I'm really proud of it ;-;.

Nestor watches patiently and blankly as the master of the manor struts to and fro in the study, pacing around and muttering to himself determinedly, as if trying to rid of a horrible thought and convince himself that whatever he’s thinking should be nugatory and completely unnecessary. 

He turns twice, thrice and finally, one last time and stomps his boots. It wouldn’t be a surprise if there ended up being holes all over the wooden floor, worn down by the constant drag of heavy boots as the Captain flies around. Nestor sighs and debates on whether he should speak up or not, but then, suddenly, the Captain stops on the spot. Breathing heavier than it was a few seconds ago and posture so rigid that the man begins to look fragile. He moves closer to ask the Captain if everything is fine (even if he knows it isn’t, but a bit of concern never hurt) and possibly try to lead the man towards one of the couches as they waited; to calm him his nerves (and his own, for the noise and movement in the room is beginning to make him much more perturbed than he already was). 

It’s too late, however. For light, dignified steps begin to echo through the halls of the manor, the halls that lead to the study that they’re currently waiting in. All movement and thought in the room stops as they strain their ears for the footsteps heading their way.

“M’sieur Haddock.” A voice greets and is then followed by a middle aged man, hair peppered and mustache trimmed, who walks into the room and flashes a slight but professional smile towards them. He places his suitcase onto the small coffee table in front of him and folds his arms on top of his chest in a motion that tells both Nestor and Haddock that it is a habit that the man carries with him, “I have just finished with the young man and I am comfortable and certain enough to say that everything is fine now, he is in a good position. But he does need a 3 to 4 week bedrest. Then, he’ll be on his way to being as good as new in no time.”

Haddock, eyes wide and lips pursed, nods slowly and folds his arms behind his back, “Were they bad injuries?” he speaks slowly, voice rough yet quiet, as if he cannot comprehend his own words.

“All injuries are bad, Capitaine.” the doctor hums and nods politely, “But M’sieur Tintin is one strong man. However, as we are talking about them and I favour being as truthful as possible; I treated the crucial ones, few were fatal and I see no serious threat to the lad’s health; but I’ll be leaving you with instructions on one peculiar odious wound that I’m a tad worried about.”

He hands them 2 sachets obviously filled to the brim, with pills and proceeds to explain to both Haddock and Nestor on the daily changes of the bandages on the wound that drives deep into Tintin’s waist. It needs to be wiped with warm water, then antiseptic before being wrapped with fresh bandages; twice a day. 

Haddock’s face falls in horror and he opens his mouth to protest but is cut off by the reassuring look that the doctor gives him, along with ‘he’ll be fine, Capitaine.’

But he does not nod, make any movement or sound to agree along with the Doctor, he continues to listen and watches as the man collects his things and is escorted out by Nestor. 

“Cher Dieu… Tintin my boy.” he sighs under his breath, heart heavy, always heavy, and begins his way towards the young man’s room with a bottle of rum in hand. 

* * *

The room smells like alcohol, the stench of it is strongest from where Tintin lies still on the bed. Eyes closed and breathing with much more effort than one goes through while inhaling or exhaling. 

The Captain takes a seat onto the chair closest to the bed, glass clinking as it is placed onto the small side table by the bed and is promptly filled to the brim with whiskey. 

"You have to stop doing this laddie." He murmurs and takes a large gulp. He hisses in satisfaction as it burns his throat, and eyes Tintin, "you need to stop getting yourself into these--these godforsaken situations."

He raises himself off the chair, his legs wobble as he makes his way over to Tintin. Blue eyes swirling with deep concern as his calloused hands brush away the bright orange strands that cover the young man’s rosy cheeks. 

Heavy, battered hands trail their way to Tintin’s limp hands.  
The hands that guide him and pull him forward.  
The hands that can’t help but wrap around his own when the young man tries to snap some sense into him.  
Soft, smaller hands than his own ugly, scarred ones that fill Haddock’s soul with everything and nothing but the feeling of safety.

Haddock leans closer, squeezing his hands gently, his breath ragged and heavy and he has no idea why. But his heart is beating against his chest so much that it pains. 

The pain stops though,  
the moment his lips brush against Tintin’s own,  
warm hands squeezing his right back.

**Author's Note:**

> there's still a lot i want to write.  
> but handholding is my favorite.  
> =].


End file.
